JOY 


frank  Dempster  IS^erman 


LYRICS  OF  JOY.    Crown  8vo,  $1.00,  net.     Postage  extra. 
LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS.     With  16  full-page  illustrations,     izmo, 

gilt  top,  $1.50. 
LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE.     i8mo,  cloth  or  parchment  paper,  $1.00. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


LYRICS   OF   JOY 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


BY 


FRANK   DEMPSTER   SHERMAN 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
pte^,  Cambri&0e 
1904 


COPYRIGHT   1904   BY  FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  October  iqo4 


TO 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD 


345100 


CONTENTS 

FANCY:— 

Confession      .         ....        .        .  .        .3 

Witchery     ....  .4 

Dies  Ultima    .         .        .        .        .  .        .5 

A  Tear  Bottle      .        ......        .  v          7 

The  Day's  Shroud 9 

A  Sea  Ghost        .                                            .  10 

A  Bird's  Elegy       ..        .        „        .        .  .        .     « 

Secret                            .        .         .         .         .  12 

The  Poet        Y        .        .        .        .  .13 

The  Charm          ......  14 

His  Desire      .        .        .        ...  .15 

The  Muse   .....  17 

The  Interpreter       ...  .19 

Harro 20 

With  Herrick.         .                 .         .         .  .         .23 

Canoe  Song         .                                  -.        .  25 
A  Garland       ........     27 

A  Prayer     ...                          .  3° 

NATURE:— 

The  Year's  Day 33 

Arbutus 34 


Violet 35 

April   .  37 

Bacchus 39 

May  Morning 41 

Honeysuckles .42 

Winter  Dreams 43 

White  Magic 44 

Footprints  in  the  Snow         ...  .45 

Nantucket 47 

Dawn  and  Dusk 51 

LOVE : — 

To  Juliet         .                                           .                 .  55 

Rose  Lore  . 57 

On  Some  Buttercups       <                 .                 •        •  59 

The  Bower  of  Cupid    .        .        .        .        .        .  60 

Moonlight  and  Music 63 

In  Absence          .         .         .         .         .         .         .  65 

FOR   MUSIC:  — 

Love's  Springtide     .  .  .69 

To  Her 7° 

My  April •  7 l 

A  May  Madrigal .                                   .  73 

Nocturne         ........  75 

Memories    .......  77 

A  Song's  Echo 78 

[    viii    ] 


With  Roses     ....  ...     79 

Two  Songs  ...                 •                 •  8o 

SONNETS :  — 

Saint  Rose      .  83 

Surf  Music  ...                          •  .84 
To  a  Mocking  Bird          .                  .         .         .         .     85 

Music.         ...  86 

The  Shower    .  •    87 
To  a  Butterfly  in  Wall  Street 

The  Winter  Pool     .  •     89 

Betrayal      .        .        .  9° 

The  Snow's  Dreamer      .  •     91 

The  Cathedral  Bells    .  92 

QUATRAINS :  — 

Dawn      ...  •  •         •     95 

Storm  ....                          •  95 

Dusk       .         .         .     t  .  -95 

Starlight       ...  96 

A  Sea  Fancy  ...  •     96 

Mastery       ....  96 

Derelict  ...  •     97 

Fog      .  97 

The  Penalty    ...  -97 

Life     ...  98 

The  Goal        .        .  •     98 

Knowledge.        ...  98 


In  a  Garden    ........     go 

Ivy    •  99 

Grass      .  99 

Rose I00 

Day  Dream I00 

Fire  Fancies I0o 

City  Sparrows I0i 

Writ  in  Water I0i 

Contrast          ........  101 

The  Quatrain 102 

A  Wish  .......  .  102 


FANCY 


CONFESSION 

WHEN  I  was  young  I  made  a  vow 
To  keep  youth  in  my  heart  as  long 

As  there  were  birds  upon  the  bough 
To  gladden  me  with  song : 

To  learn  what  lessons  Life  might  give, 

To  do  my  duty  as  I  saw, 
To  love  my  friends,  to  laugh  and  live 

Not  holding  Death  in  awe. 

So  all  my  lyrics  sing  of  joy, 

And  shall  until  my  lips  are  mute ; 

In  old  age  happy  as  the  boy 
To  whom  God  gave  the  lute. 


[     3     ] 


WITCHERY 

OUT  of  the  purple  drifts, 
From  the  shadow  sea  of  night, 

On  tides  of  musk  a  moth  uplifts 
Its  weary  wings  of  white. 

Is  it  a  dream  or  ghost 

Of  a  dream  that  comes  to  me, 
Here  in  the  twilight  on  the  coast, 

Blue  cinctured  by  the  sea  ? 

Fashioned  of  foam  and  froth  — 

And  the  dream  is  ended  soon, 
And,  lo,  whence  came  the  moon-white  moth 

Comes  now  the  moth-white  moon ! 


C     4     ] 


DIES   ULTIMA 

WHITE  in  her  woven  shroud, 

Silent  she  lies, 
Deaf  to  the  trumpets  loud 

Blown  through  the  skies  ; 
Never  a  sound  can  mar 

Her  slumber  long : 
She  is  a  faded  star,  — 

A  finished  song ! 

Over  her  hangs  the  sun, 

A  golden  glow ; 
Round  her  the  planets  run, 

She  does  not  know ; 
For  neither  gloom  nor  gleam 

Can  reach  her  sight : 
She  is  a  broken  dream,  — 

A  dead  delight ! 


[    5    ] 


No  voice  can  waken  her 

Again  to  sing ; 
She  nevermore  will  stir 

To  feel  the  spring ; 
Through  the  dim  ether  hurled 

Till  Time  shall  tire, 
She  is  a  wasted  world,  — • 

A  frozen  fire ! 


A  TEAR  BOTTLE 

GLASS,  wherein  a  Greek  girl's  tears 
Once  were  gathered  as  they  fell, 

After  these  two  thousand  years 
Is  there  still  no  tale  to  tell  ? 

Buried  with  her,  in  her  mound 
She  is  dust  long  since,  but  you 

Only  yesterday  were  found 
Iridescent  as  the  dew,  — 

Fashioned  faultlessly,  a  form 

Graceful  as  was  hers  whose  cheek 

Once  against  you  made  you  warm 
While  you  heard  her  sorrow  speak. 

At  your  lips  I  listen  long 

For  some  whispered  word  of  her, 
For  some  ghostly  strain  of  song 

In  your  haunted  heart  to  stir : 

[    7     ] 


But  your  crystal  lips  are  dumb, 
Hushed  the  music  in  your  heart : 

Ah,  if  she  could  only  come 
Back  again  and  bid  it  start ! 

Long  is  Art,  but  Life  how  brief ! 

And  the  end  seems  so  unjust :  — 
This  companion  of  her  grief 

Here  to-day,  while  she  is  dust ! 


C    8     ] 


THE   DAY'S    SHROUD 

FROM  sunrise  to  the  set  of  sun 
The  Winds  went  to  and  fro, 

Singing  the  while  they  deftly  spun 
A  garment  white  like  snow. 

And  in  the  dusk,  unto  the  west 
They  bore  the  robe  of  cloud, 

And  for  the  grave  the  dead  Day  dressed 
Within  this  snowy  shroud. 

Then,  slowly  vanishing  from  sight, 

I  heard  them  softly  sing, 
And  saw  above  the  grave  at  night 

The  stars  all  blossoming. 


[    9    ] 


A   SEA  GHOST 

ALL  night  I  heard  along  the  coast 

The  sea  her  grief  outpour ; 
And  with  the  dawn  arose  a  ghost 

To  haunt  the  furrowed  shore. 

And  when  from  out  the  gray  mist  rolled 

The  sun  above  the  town, 
A  shipwrecked  sailor  came  and  told 

Of  how  the  ship  went  down. 

Then  did  I  sudden  understand 

The  sobbing  of  the  sea, 
And  of  that  white  ghost  on  the  sand 

I  knew  the  mystery. 


[        10       ] 


A   BIRD'S   ELEGY 

HE  was  the  first  to  welcome  Spring  ; 

Adventurous,  he  came 
To  wake  the  dreaming  buds  and  sing 

The  crocus  into  flame. 

He  loved  the  morning  and  the  dew ; 

He  loved  the  sun  and  rain; 
He  fashioned  lyrics  as  he  flew 

With  love  for  their  refrain. 

Poet  of  vines  and  blossoms,  he  ; 

Beloved  of  them  all ; 
The  timid  leaves  upon  the  tree 

Grew  bold  at  his  glad  call. 

He  sang  the  rapture  of  the  hills, 
And  from  the  starry  height 

He  brought  the  melody  that  fills 
The  meadows  with  delight. 

And  now,  behold  him  dead,  alas ! 

Where  he  made  joy  so  long  : 
A  bit  of  blue  amid  the  grass,  — 

A  tiny,  broken  song. 


SECRET 

SOFTLY  the  little  wind  goes  by, 
A  whisper,  —  nothing  more ; 

Some  message  from  the  azure  sky 
Brought  down  to  earth's  green  door. 

Fragrant  and  fresh  the  wonder-word, 
But  what  it  means,  who  knows  ? 

Only  the  butterfly,  the  bird, 
The  leaf,  the  grass  and  rose. 

Theirs  the  divine  felicity, 

The  gift  of  wisdom  rare, 
The  melody,  the  mystery, 

The  secret  of  the  air. 


THE   POET 

VOICE  of  the  wind,  of  singing  brook  and  bird, 
Dawn's  message  white  and  midnight's  word, 
These  secrets  all  belong 
Unto  his  song. 

For  Nature  to  the  poet's  heart  alone 
Makes  her  mysterious  meanings  known : 
He  is  her  voice  and  her 
Interpreter ! 


THE   CHARM 

SLIGHT  is  the  thing  it  needs  to  wake 
The  embers  that  have  slumbered  long 

Within  the  poet's  heart,  and  make 
Them  burn  again  with  song. 

A  rose,  a  star,  a  voice,  a  glance, 
Echo  or  glimpse,  —  it  is  the  same  : 

Some  mystery  of  time  or  chance 
That  finds  the  hidden  flame. 

Embers  of  song  and  song's  desire, 
Hushed  in  the  singer's  heart  they  lie, 

And  softly  kindle  into  fire 
If  but  a  dream  go  by. 

And  none  may  say,  since  none  can  know, 
Whence  comes  the  vivifying  spark 

That  sends  a  transitory  glow 
Of  song  across  the  dark. 

It  is  a  secret  summons,  such 

As  comes  unto  the  spray  when  spring 
Wakens  the  blossoms  with  a  touch, 

That  bids  the  poet,  Sing  ! 
[     14     ] 


HIS   DESIRE 

OF  all  the  threads  of  rhyme 
Which  I  have  spun, 

I  shall  be  glad  if  Time 
Save  only  one. 

And  I  would  have  each  word 

To  joy  belong  — 
A  lyric  like  a  bird 

Whose  soul  is  song. 

There  is  enough  of  grief 

To  mar  the  years  ; 
Be  mine  a  sunny  leaf, 

Untouched  by  tears, 

To  bring  unto  the  heart 

Delight,  and  make 
All  sorrows  to  depart, 

And  joy  to  wake. 

E     '5    ] 


No  sermon  mine  to  preach, 

Save  happiness ; 
No  lesson  mine  to  teach, 

Save  joy  to  bless. 

Joy,  't  is  the  one  best  thing 

Below,  above : 
The  lute's  divinest  string, 

Whose  note  is  love. 


THE   MUSE 

THE  songs  I  make,  they  are  not  mine, 

They  all  belong  to  her 
Whose  words  in  some  strange  way  combine 

To  set  my  heart  astir. 

If  but  her  eyes  look  down  on  me 

The  while  I  pause  to  write, 
By  some  swift  touch  of  sorcery 

The  sombre  lines  grow  bright. 

Her  voice  upon  me  lays  a  spell 

Of  music  soft  and  sweet ; 
Imperfectly,  what  she  may  tell, 

My  lyrics  but  repeat. 

I  am  as  one  who  hears  the  thrush 

In  some  leaf  covert  dim, 
And  in  the  intermittent  hush 

Ponders  the  dew-fresh  hymn  : 


Or  one  who  in  a  shadowed  place 

Watches  the  stars  agleam 
And  knows  their  beauty  on  his  face 

Illumining  his  dream : 

Or  one  who  catches  from  the  rose 

A  fragrant  message  sent 
From  crimson  lips  and  straightway  knows 

All  of  the  Orient. 

Like  these  am  I,  and  all  my  rhymes 

Are  but  the  records  clear 
That  write  themselves  at  magic  times 

When  she,  the  Muse,  is  near. 

For  could  I  make  my  own  her  song, 

Unto  the  world  I  'd  give 
A  lyric  which  should  live  as  long 

As  song  itself  shall  live  ! 


THE   INTERPRETER 

NOT  his  alone  the  gift  divine 
Who  understands  how,  line  by  line, 
To  re-create  the  dream  with  all 
Its  wonder-world  ethereal : 
Something  of  that  same  gift  has  he 
Who,  reading,  through  the  lines  can  see 
The  dream  itself,  —  the  secret  thing 
That  stirred  the  poet's  heart  to  sing. 


HARRO 

THIS  is  brave  Harro  s  story, 
Harro  who  watched  the  sea : 

To  his  renown  I  set  it  down 
As  it  was  told  to  me. 

Back  from  the  reef-caught  vessel 
Came  Harro's  comrades  four, 

And  with  them  ten  half-perished  men 
Safe  landed  on  the  shore. 

"  And  are  these  all  ?  "  asked  Harro. 

Answered  the  sailors  brave  : 
"  Nay.    One  lashed  high  we  left  to  die, 

And  find  an  ocean  grave." 

Cried  Harro  :  "  Who  goes  with  me 

To  rescue  him,  the  last, 
Alive  or  dead  ?   Shall  it  be  said 

We  left  one  on  the  mast  ? " 


Spoke  up  his  gray-haired  mother  : 
"  Oh,  Harro  boy,  my  son, 
Go  not,  I  pray !   'T  is  death  they  say, 
And  there  is  only  one ! 

"  Father  and  brother  Uwe 

The  cruel  sea  hath  slain. 
My  last  art  thou.    Good  Harro,  now 
Let  me  not  plead  in  vain !  " 

Answered  brave  Harro  :  "  Mother, 
Who  knows,  perchance  for  him 

Under  the  skies  a  mother's  eyes 
To-day  with  tears  grow  dim. 

"  Farewell !    God  watches  over 

The  fields  of  flying  foam, 
And  He  shall  keep  us  on  the  deep, 
And  safely  bring  us  home." 

Wild  was  the  storm -swept  ocean, 

And  like  a  fragile  leaf 
The  lifeboat  tossed  long  ere  it  crossed 

Unto  the  distant  reef. 


[    21     ] 


Wild  was  the  sea,  and  madly 

Ever  the  tempest  blew, 
While  down  the  track  came  Harro  back 

With  one  beside  the  crew. 

Hard  to  the  oars  his  comrades 

Bent  in  the  shrieking  gale ; 
And  Harro  cried,  when  land  he  spied, 
"Thank  God,  we  shall  not  fail !  " 

And  when  he  saw  his  mother 

Pacing  the  shore  in  tears, 
Loud  over  all  the  storm  his  call 

Brought  gladness  to  her  ears. 

Over  and  over  he  shouted, 

And  high  his  cap  he  waved : 
"  God  gives  thee  joy !   God  sends  thy  boy  ! 
'T  is  Uwe  we  have  saved  !  " 

Such  is  brave  Harro' s  story, 
Harro  who  watched  the  sea  : 

To  his  renown  I  set  it  down 
As  it  was  told  to  me. 


WITH    HERRICK 

IN  the  green  woods  is  the  brook, 
Like  a  lyric  in  his  book, 
Singing  as  it  slips  along 
Tender  strains  of  sylvan  song. 
Carol  of  the  thrush's  throat 
Echoes  in  its  liquid  note ; 
Murmur  of  the  woodland  bee 
Haunts  its  drowsy  melody  ; 
And  its  music,  soft  and  low, 
Mimics  all  the  gales  that  go 
Whispering  in  boughs  of  green 
Spread  above  it  like  a  screen. 
O'er  its  brink  the  lily,  white 
As  the  risen  moon  at  night, 
Leans  in  rapture,  listening 
To  the  song  it  has  to  sing. 
Like  a  maiden  who  for  love 
From  her  lattice  leans  above, 
Drinking  in  the  song  that  slips 
Through  the  shadows  from  the  lips 
Of  her  lover  in  the  gloom, 
So  above  the  brook  this  bloom 


Leans  to  hear  the  message  sweet 

That  her  lover  may  repeat. 

Loitering  beside  the  stream, 

Is  it  strange  that  I  should  dream  — 

Dream  of  Herrick,  and  of  Her 

For  whose  eyes  his  lyrics  were  ? 

Julia,  —  she  this  lily  is, 

And  the  brook's  songs  all  are  his ! 


CANOE    SONG 

GRACEFULEST  of  buoyant  things, 
Wanting  but  the  snowy  wings 
Of  your  kin,  the  swan,  to  be 
Queen  of  both  the  sky  and  sea ; 
Softly  down  the  tranquil  stream, 
As  through  slumber  glides  a  dream, 
With  the  current  let  us  go 
Where  the  slim  reeds,  row  on  row, 
Make  sweet  music  all  day  long, 
And  the  air  is  full  of  song. 

Silent  as  the  red  man,  who 
Out  of  birch-bark  fashioned  you, 
Steal  along  and  come  upon 
Hosts  of  water-lilies  wan 
Suddenly,  and  bring  surprise 
To  their  wonder-waking  eyes  ; 
Then  be  off  again  once  more, 
Shadow-like,  and  haunt  the  shore, 
Gathering  from  bending  grass 
Water  secrets  as  you  pass. 


On  and  on  and  on  we  drift 
Till  the  stars  begin  to  sift 
Through  the  twilight  and,  on  high, 
At  her  window  in  the  sky 
Comes  the  Night's  pale  bride  to  hark 
For  his  message  through  the  dark ; 
Till  at  last  the  silver  sand 
Reaches  down  and  bids  us  land, 
Then  till  dawn,  farewell  to  you  — 
Sister  of  the  swan  —  Canoe  ! 


A   GARLAND 

LET  me  a  garland  twine 
For  poets  nine, 

Whose  verse 
I  love  best  to  rehearse. 

For  each  a  laurel  leaf, 
One  stanza  brief, 

I  make 
For  memory's  sweet  sake. 

First,  then,  THEOCRITUS, 
Whose  song  for  us 
Still  yields 
The  fragrance  of  the  fields. 

Next,  HORACE,  singing  yet 
Of  love,  regret, 

And  flowers : 
This  Roman  rose  is  ours. 


OMAR-FITZGERALD  next, 
Within  whose  text 

There  lies 
A  charm  to  win  the  wise. 

Then  SHAKESPEARE,  by  whose  light 
All  poets  write : 
The  star 
Whose  satellites  they  are  ! 

HERRICK  then  let  me  name, 
Whose  lyrics  came 

Like  birds 
To  sing  his  happy  words. 

Then  KEATS,  whose  jewel  rhyme 
Shines  for  all  time, 

To  tell 
Of  him  the  gods  loved  well. 

LONGFELLOW  next  I  choose  : 
For  him  the  muse 

Held  up 
Song's  over-brimming  cup. 


Next  TENNYSON,  whose  song, 
Still  clear  and  strong, 

Soars  high, 
Nearing  each  day  the  sky. 

Then  ALDRICH  —  like  a  thrush 
In  the  dawn's  flush, 

Who  sings 
With  dew  upon  his  wings. 

These  are  the  nine,  above 
Whose  leaves  I  love 

To  lean, 
My  happiness  to  glean. 

Theirs  are  the  books  that  hold 
Joy's  clearest  gold 

For  me, 
Wrought  into  melody ; 

Theirs  are  the  words  to  start 
Within  my  heart 

The  fire 
Of  song  and  song's  desire ! 


A   PRAYER 

IT  is  my  joy  in  life  to  find 
At  every  turning  of  the  road, 

The  strong  arm  of  a  comrade  kind 
To  help  me  onward  with  my  load. 

And  since  I  have  no  gold  to  give, 
And  love  alone  must  make  amends, 

My  only  prayer  is,  while  I  live,  — 
God  make  me  worthy  of  my  friends  / 


[    3°     1 


NATURE 


THE  YEAR'S   DAY 

AFTER  the  winter's  night 

From  the  world  is  withdrawn, 

Out  of  the  darkness  gleams  the  light,  — 
Spring  —  and  the  Year's  fresh  dawn. 

Blossom  and  leaf  and  bud, 

And  the  birds  all  in  tune ; 
Then  in  a  fragrant,  golden  flood,  — 

Summer  —  the  Year's  glad  noon. 

Crimson  the  roses  blow, 

And  the  grove's  breath  is  musk  : 
Then  to  the  Year  the  sunset  glow,  — 

Autumn  —  and  hints  of  dusk. 

Glimmer  the  stars  of  frost, 

And  the  wind  at  the  door 
Mournfully  sings  of  something  lost :  — 

Winter  —  and  night  once  more. 


[     33 


ARBUTUS 

ALONG  the  woods'  brown  edge 
The  wind  goes  wandering 

To  find  the  first  pink  pledge  — 
The  hint  of  Spring. 

The  withered  leaves  around, 
She  scatters  every  one, 

And  gives  to  wintry  ground 
A  glimpse  of  sun. 

And  to  the  woodland  dumb 

And  desolate  so  long 
She  calls  the  birds  to  come 

With  happy  song. 

Then  the  arbutus  !     This 

The  pledge,  the  hint  she  sought, 
The  blush,  the  breath,  the  kiss,  — 

Spring's  very  thought ! 


[     34     ] 


VIOLET 

IN  this  white  world  of  wonder 

All  wrapt  in  silence  deep, 
Shut  in  her  palace  under 

The  snow  she  lies  asleep ; 
And  she  shall  only  waken 

When  lyrics  sweet  and  clear 
Out  of  the  trees  are  shaken, 

And  April 's  here. 

Glimpses  of  grass  and  gleams  of 

The  golden  sunlight  bring 
Visions  of  joy  and  dreams  of 

The  miracle  of  Spring : 
She  sees  the  shining  faces 

Of  buds  and  leaves  appear, 
Lighting  the  shadowed  spaces 

With  April 's  here  ! 


[    35     ] 


Then,  O  the  nameless  rapture 

Of  that  warm  touch  at  last, 
When  April  comes  to  capture 

And  hold  her  fragrance  fast 
The  dream  of  winter  broken, 

Behold  her,  blue  and  dear, 
Shy  Violet,  sure  token 

That  April 's  here ! 


APRIL 

AFTER  the  silence  long 

On  valley  and  hill, 
Listen,  —  again  the  song 

Of  the  silver  rill ! 

Vanishes  from  the  plains 
The  prison  of  snow ; 

Broken  the  crystal  chains, 
And  the  captives  go  ; 

Over  the  Winter's  tomb 
The  bird  in  its  mirth 

Carols  of  bud  and  bloom 
To  the  barren  earth  ; 

Tremble  the  vines  and  trees 

With  ecstasy  then, 
Hearing  the  lisping  breeze 

Hint  of  Spring  again. 

[     37     ] 


Mystery  fills  the  air, 

And  melody  sweet 
Follows  the  pathways  where 

Glimmer  Spring's  white  feet. 

Over  the  meadow's  floor 
She  hastens,  and  —  see ! 

April  is  at  the  door 
With  her  golden  key  ! 


BACCHUS 

LISTEN  to  the  tawny  thief 
Hid  behind  the  waxen  leaf, 
Growling  at  his  fairy  host, 
Bidding  her  with  angry  boast 
Fill  his  cup  with  wine  distilled 
From  the  dew  the  dawn  has  spilled 
Stored  away  in  golden  casks 
Is  the  precious  draught  he  asks. 

Who,  —  who  makes  this  mimic  din 
In  this  mimic  meadow  inn, 
Sings  in  such  a  drowsy  note, 
Wears  a  golden-belted  coat, 
Loiters  in  the  dainty  room 
Of  this  tavern  of  perfume, 
Dares  to  linger  at  the  cup 
Till  the  yellow  sun  is  up  ? 


[    39    ] 


It  is  Bacchus  come  again 
To  the  busy  haunts  of  men ; 
Garlanded  and  gayly  dressed, 
Bands  of  gold  about  his  breast ; 
Straying  from  his  paradise 
Having  pinions,  angel-wise,  — 
'T  is  the  honey-bee,  who  goes 
Reveling  within  a  rose  ! 


C  40  ] 


MAY   MORNING 

WHAT  magic  flutes  are  these  that  make 

Sweet  melody  at  dawn, 
And  stir  the  dewy  leaves  to  shake 

Their  silver  on  the  lawn  ? 

What  miracle  of  music  wrought 
In  shadowed  groves  is  this  ? 

All  ecstasy  of  sound  upcaught,  — 
Song's  apotheosis ! 

The  dreaming  lilies  lift  their  heads 

To  listen  and  grow  wise ; 
The  fragrant  roses  from  their  beds 

In  sudden  beauty  rise : 

Enraptured,  on  the  eastern  hill, 

A  moment,  halts  the  sun  ; 
Day  breaks  ;  and  all  again  is  still : 

The  thrushes'  song  is  done  ! 


C     41     ] 


HONEYSUCKLES 

WITHIN  a  belfry  built  of  bloom, 
Above  the  garden  wall  they  swing  ; 
A  chime  of  bells  for  winds  to  ring, 

Of  mingled  music  and  perfume. 

What  scented  syllables  of  song 

Throughout  the  day  their  tongues  repeat 
They  tempt  with  promise,  honey-sweet, 

The  listener  to  linger  long. 

A  bit  of  sunset  cloud  astray, 

The  dappled  butterfly  floats  near, 
Lured  by  the  fragrant  music  clear, 

Trembles  with  joy,  then  fades  away. 

And  thither  oft,  from  time  to  time, 
The  humming-bird  and  golden  bee, 
List,  and  go  mad  with  melody,  — 

The  honey-music  of  the  chime. 

And  thither  when  the  silver  gleam 
Of  moon  and  stars  is  over  all, 
One  white  moth  hovers  near  the  wall,  — 

A  ghost  to  haunt  the  garden's  dream ! 
[     4*     ] 


WINTER   DREAMS 

DEEP  lies  the  snow  on  wood  and  field ; 

Gray  stretches  overhead  the  sky ; 
The  streams,  their  lips  of  laughter  sealed, 

In  silence  wander  slowly  by. 

Earth  slumbers,  and  her  dreams,  —  who  knows 
But  they  may  sometimes  be  like  ours  ? 

Lyrics  of  spring  in  winter's  prose 

That  sing  of  buds  and  leaves  and  flowers ; 

Dreams  of  that  day  when  from  the  south 
Comes  April,  as  at  first  she  came, 

To  hold  the  bare  twig  to  her  mouth 
And  blow  it  into  fragrant  flame. 


[     43     ] 


WHITE   MAGIC 

WHEN  Winter  hushes  for  a  time 

The  music  of  the  sylvan  brook, 
And  shuts  its  witchery  of  rhyme 

In  her  white  book, 

The  world  is  not  yet  dumb ; 
For  in  the  snow-hung  vines  and  trees 

With  their  cold  blossoms,  icy  clear, 
Invisible  the  winds  like  bees 

Swarm,  and  I  hear 

Their  weird  and  wizard  hum. 

Such  is  the  magic  wand  she  wields 

That  she  can  shape  my  fancy  so 
My  dreams  are  all  of  fragrant  fields 

The  wild  bees  know 

In  summer's  golden  noon  ; 
And  through  the  dull  December  hours 

Mine  is  the  month  for  which  I  long,  — 
The  barren  branch  grows  bright  with  flowers 

Where  the  bees  throng,  — 

White  magic,  —  winter  June  ! 


[    44    ] 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW 

WORN  is  the  winter  rug  of  white, 

And  in  the  snow-bare  spots  once  more 

Glimpses  of  faint  green  grass  in  sight,  — 
Spring's  footprints  on  the  floor. 

Upon  the  sombre  forest  gates 

A  crimson  flush  the  mornings  catch, 

The  token  of  the  Spring  who  waits 
With  finger  on  the  latch. 

Blow,  bugles  of  the  south,  and  win 

The  warders  from  their  dreams  too  long, 

And  bid  them  let  the  new  guest  in 
With  her  glad  hosts  of  song. 

She  shall  make  bright  the  dismal  ways 
With  broideries  of  bud  and  bloom, 

With  music  fill  the  nights  and  days 
And  end  the  garden's  gloom. 

[     45     ] 


Her  face  is  lovely  with  the  sun  ; 

Her  voice  —  ah,  listen  to  it  now  ! 
The  silence  of  the  year  is  done : 

The  bird  is  on  the  bough ! 

Spring  here,  —  by  what  magician's  touch  ? 

'T  was  winter  scarce  an  hour  ago. 
And  yet  I  should  have  guessed  as  much,  — 

Those  footprints  in  the  snow ! 


NANTUCKET 

DEAR  old  Nantucket's  isle  of  sand, 
An  ancient  exile  from  the  Land,  — 
Free  from  the  devastating  hand 

Of  pomp  and  pillage, 
I  find  it  year  by  year  with  all 
Its  white-winged  fleet  of  cat-boats  small 
Guarding  what  Fancy  loves  to  call 

The  violet  village. 

The  yellow  cliffs,  the  houses  white, 
The  wind-mill  with  its  wheel  in  sight, 
The  church  spire  and  the  beacons  bright, 

All  bunched  together ; 
How  picturesque  they  are  !   How  fair ! 
And,  O  how  fragrant  is  the  air, 
With  pink  wild-roses  everywhere 

And  purple  heather ! 

[    47    ] 


Half  foreign  seems  the  little  town,  — 
The  narrow  streets,  the  tumble-down 
And  rotting  wharves  whose  past  renown 

Is  linked  with  whalers,  — 
The  roofs  with  Look-outs  whence  they  saw 
In  bygone  days  the  big  ships  draw 
Homeward  with  oil,  and  watched  with  awe 

The  sea-worn  sailors  : 

Half  foreign,  but  the  better  half 
Is  like  the  flag  that  from  the  staff 
Flings  out  its  welcome,  starry  laugh,  — 

Native  completely ; 

The  shops,  the  schools,  the  zigzag  lines 
Of  shingled  dwellings  hung  with  vines, 
And  gardens  wrought  in  quaint  designs 

And  smelling  sweetly. 

Here  one  may  wander  forth  and  meet 
Skippers  of  eighty  years  whose  feet 
Find  youth  yet  in  the  paven  street ; 

And  if  one  hunger 
For  yarns  of  wrecks  and  water  lore, 
Pass  the  tobacco  round  once  more, 
And  hear  what  happened  long  before, 

When  he  was  younger. 

[  48  ] 


Enchanting  tales  of  wind  and  wave, 
Witty,  pathetic,  gay  and  grave,  — 
One  listens  in  the  merman's  cave 

Enraptured,  breathless, 
While  from  the  gray,  bewhiskered  lips 
Come  stories  of  the  sea  and  ships  ; 
The  careful  skipper  never  skips 

The  legends  deathless. 

Then  out  again,  and  let  us  go 

Where  fresh  and  cool  the  breezes  blow 

Over  the  dunes  of  Pocomo, 

Where  bird  and  berry 
Conspire  to  lure  us  on  until, 
Over  the  gently  sloping  hill, 
We  see  Wauwinet,  white  and  still 

And  peaceful  very. 

Here  is  the  ending  of  the  quest ; 
Here,  on  this  Island  of  the  Blest, 
Is  found  at  last  the  Port  of  Rest,  — 

Remote,  romantic  : 
A  land-flower  broken  from  the  stem, 
And  few  indeed  there  be  of  them 
Fitted  so  perfectly  to  gem 

The  blue  Atlantic. 
[    49    ] 


Dreamy,  delicious,  drowsy,  dull,  — 

A  poppy-island  beautiful ; 

And  there  are  poppies  here  to  cull 

Until  the  plunder 

Provokes  the  soul  to  sleep  and  dream 
Amid  the  glamour  and  the  gleam, 
And  makes  the  world  about  us  seem 

A  world  of  wonder ! 


[    5°    ] 


DAWN   AND  DUSK 

SLENDER  strips  of  crimson  sky 
Near  the  dim  horizon  lie, 
Shot  across  with  golden  bars 
Reaching  to  the  fading  stars  ; 
Soft  the  balmy  west  wind  blows 
Wide  the  portals  of  the  rose ; 
Smell  of  dewy  pine  and  fir, 
Lisping  leaves  and  vines  astir  ; 
On  the  borders  of  the  dark 
Gayly  sings  the  meadow-lark, 
Bidding  all  the  birds  assemble,  — 
Hark,  the  heavens  seem  to  tremble ! 
Suddenly  the  sunny  gleams 
Break  the  poppy-fettered  dreams,  — 

Dreams  of  Pan,  with  two  feet  cloven, 
Piping  to  the  nymph  and  faun 

Who  with  wreaths  of  ivy  woven 
Nimbly  dance  to  greet  the  dawn. 

[    5'     ] 


Shifting  shadows  indistinct ; 

Leaves  and  branches,  crossed  and  linked, 

Cling  like  children  and  embrace, 

Frightened  at  the  moon's  pale  face : 

In  the  gloomy  wood  begins 

Noise  of  insect  violins ; 

Swarms  of  fireflies  flash  their  lamps 

In  their  atmospheric  camps, 

And  the  sad-voiced  whippoorwill 

Echoes  back  from  hill  to  hill, 

Liquid  clear  above  the  crickets 

Chirping  in  the  thorny  thickets. 

Weary  eyelids,  eyes  that  weep, 

Wait  the  magic  touch  of  sleep ; 

While  the  dew  in  silence  falling 
Fills  the  air  with  scent  of  musk, 

And  this  lonely  night-bird  calling 
Drops  a  note  down  through  the  dusk. 


LOVE 


TO  JULIET 

(Cum  regnat  rosa) 

HEEDLESS  how  it  may  fare  with  Time, 
I  send  you  here  a  rose  of  rhyme : 
Its  fragrance,  love  ;  its  color,  one 
Caught  from  Hope's  ever-constant  sun  ; 
Upon  each  leaf  a  lyric  writ  — 
Your  eyes  alone  may  witness  it ; 
And  in  its  heart  for  you  to  see 
Another  heart  —  the  heart  of  me. 

All  roses  are  as  fitly  worn 

By  you  as  by  your  sister  Morn, 

Since  you,  like  Morn,  fail  not  to  give 

New  beauty  to  them  while  they  live. 

If  this  against  your  bosom  rest 

One  brief,  sweet  hour  its  life  were  blest ; 

Then,  should  you  chance  to  cast  it  by, 

It  would  not  find  it  hard  to  die. 


[    55     ] 


So  take  this  bloom  of  love  and  song, 
And,  be  its  life  or  brief  or  long, 
Know  that  for  you  the  petals  part, 
Disclosing  all  its  lyric  heart ; 
For  you  its  fragrant  breaths  are  drawn ; 
For  you  its  color  —  love's  glad  dawn ; 
And  for  you,  too,  the  heart  that  goes 
Song-prisoned  in  this  rhyme  of  rose  ! 


ROSE   LORE 

Now  since  it  knows 
My  heart  so  well, 

Would  that  this  rose 
Might  speak  and  tell ! 

You  could  not  scorn 
Its  winsome  grace, 

The  blush  of  morn 
Upon  its  face. 

Unto  your  own 

You  needs  must  press 
The  sweet  mouth  prone 

To  tenderness ; 

Then,  lip  to  lip, 

With  rapture  stirred, 
You  might  let  slip 

The  secret  word, 

C    57     ] 


With  fragrant  kiss 

Interpreting 
The  dream  of  bliss 

The  rose  would  bring. 

Then  to  your  breast 

Take  it  to  be 
Your  own  heart's  best 

Love-augury,  — 
A  welcome  guest,  — 

To  gladden  me. 


c  58 


ON   SOME  BUTTERCUPS 

A  LITTLE  way  below  her  chin, 

Caught  in  her  bosom's  snowy  hem, 

Some  buttercups  are  fastened  in,  — 
Ah,  how  I  envy  them  ! 

They  do  not  miss  their  meadow  place, 
Nor  are  they  conscious  that  their  skies 

Are  not  the  heavens  but  her  face, 
Her  hair  and  tender  eyes. 

There,  in  the  downy  meshes  pinned, 
Such  sweet  illusions  haunt  their  rest, 

They  think  her  breath  the  gentle  wind 
And  tremble  on  her  breast ; 

As  if,  close  to  her  heart,  they  heard 
A  captive  secret  slip  its  cell, 

And  with  desire  were  sudden  stirred 
To  find  a  voice  and  tell. 


[    59    ] 


THE   BOWER   OF  CUPID 

WHOSO  enters  at  this  portal 
Shall  find  Love  the  one  immortal. 
Green  the  grove  that  hides  the  grotto 
Over  which  is  hung  this  motto  ; 
Broidered  paths  of  bloom  and  berry 
Lead  unto  the  monarch  merry ; 
Birds  above  on  leafy  branches 
Loosen  lyric  avalanches ; 
Bees  go  singing  in  the  sunny, 
Blossom-builded  haunts  of  honey ; 
Flutes  of  brooks  and  lutes  of  grasses 
Waken  with  each  wind  that  passes  ; 
All  is  fragrance,  song  and  joy, 
Made  for  one  immortal  boy  ! 

Many  seek  this  grotto  hidden  ; 
Welcome  all,  and  none  forbidden. 
Soft  the  air  and  clear  as  amber ; 
Round  the  gate  red  roses  clamber  ; 
Day  long,  mirth  and  music  fill  it ; 
Night  sends  moon  and  star  to  thrill  it. 
Voices,  visions,  dreams  of  rapture, 
There  await,  the  heart  to  capture ; 
[    60    ] 


Full  it  is  of  faultless  faces  — 
All  the  Muses  and  the  Graces ; 
Poem,  picture,  flower  and  fancy, 
Every  form  of  necromancy ; 
Naught  to  worry  or  annoy, 
Save  the  one  immortal  boy  ! 

In  this  grotto  lies  the  golden 
Guest-book,  full  of  legends  olden, 
Writ  by  lovers  on  its  pages 
Since  the  daybreak  of  the  ages ; 
Paris,  Helen,  Petrarch,  Laura, 
Meleager,  Heliodora, 
All  the  glorious  Amante 
Sung  of  old  by  Tuscan  Dante, 
Names  that  shine  in  song  and  story 
Crowd  this  volume  with  their  glory, 
Tokens  left  by  all  the  lovers 
In  the  world,  between  the  covers ; 
Yet  the  record  cannot  cloy 
Love,  the  one  immortal  boy. 

Eve  in  Eden,  fresh  and  pearly, 
Found  on  Earth  this  grotto  early  ; 
So,  it  came  forever  after 
To  be  haunted  by  her  laughter. 
[    61     ] 


What  a  countless  throng  have  tasted 
Love  therein  ere  life  was  wasted  ! 
Blind  they  call  the  boy,  in  kindness, 
Yet  is  theirs  the  only  blindness. 
He  is  sure  of  ear  and  vision, 
Hearts  he  matches  with  precision  ; 
That  is  Cupid's  only  duty 
In  this  bower  of  bliss  and  beauty  — 
That  the  end  of  all  employ 
Is  for  one  immortal  boy ! 


MOONLIGHT   AND    MUSIC 

DEAR  Heart,  do  you  remember 

That  summer  by  the  sea, 
One  blue  night  in  September 

When  you  were  here  with  me, 
How  like  a  pearl  uplifted 
The  full  moon  rose  and  drifted, 
And  how  the  shadows  shifted 

Until  the  stars  were  free  ? 

Along  the  beach  the  breakers 

Brought  in  their  lavish  store, 
Gathered  from  ocean  acres, 

And  strewed  the  curving  shore  ; 
Grasses  that  gleamed  and  glistened, 
Flowers  that  the  sea  had  christened, 
Shells  at  whose  lips  you  listened 
To  learn  their  wonder-lore. 

Softly  the  breeze  blew  over 
From  groves  and  gardens  fair, 

Spilling  a  scent  of  clover 
Into  the  balmy  air ; 
[    63    ] 


The  breath  of  pines  around  us, 
Fragrant  it  came  and  found  us 
Just  as  the  moonlight  crowned  us 
And  Love  at  last  came  there. 

What  music  hailed  our  rapture  ! 

What  singers  on  the  sand 
Were  they  whose  hearts  could  capture 

Our  joy  and  understand  ? 
O  Wind  and  Wave,  they  guessed  it, 
They  sang  it  and  confessed  it,  — 
Their  love  and  ours,  —  and  blessed  it 

There  on  the  moonlit  strand  ! 

Dear  Heart,  still  sweet  the  story, 
For  all  the  years  gone  by  : 

Still  floods  the  moon  with  glory 
The  land,  the  sea,  the  sky : 

And  still  the  night-moth  hovers 

Around  us  and  discovers 

The  same  devoted  lovers,  — 
Wind,  Wave,  and  You  and  I. 


c  64 


IN  ABSENCE 

IT  matters  not  how  far  I  fare, 

Or  in  what  land  I  bide, 
Your  voice  sings  ever  on  the  air, 

Your  face  shines  at  my  side. 

For  me  each  crimson  flower  that  slips 

Its  velvet  sheath  of  green 
Yields  the  remembrance  of  your  lips 

With  all  their  sweets  between. 

Your  hair  is  in  the  dusk  that  lies 

Around  me  when  I  rest ; 
My  only  stars  are  your  dear  eyes, 

Love's  own  and  loveliest. 

Happy  am  I,  though  far  apart 
From  all  that  makes  life  dear : 

Love  dwells  contented  in  my  heart, 
Exiled  yet  always  near. 


Then  take  my  message,  Sweet,  and  know 

How  far  your  love  has  flown 
To  cheer  and  bless  your  lover,  so 

Lonely,  but  not  alone : 

I  send  it  from  the  drowsy  South, 

A  dream  of  my  delight, 
A  message  to  your  rosebud  mouth  — 

A  kiss,  and  a  good-night ! 


FOR   MUSIC 


LOVE'S   SPRINGTIDE 

MY  heart  was  winter-bound  until 

I  heard  you  sing  : 
O  voice  of  Love,  hush  not,  but  fill 

My  life  with  Spring  ! 

My  hopes  were  homeless  things  before 

I  saw  your  eyes  : 
O  smile  of  Love,  close  not  the  door 

To  paradise  ! 

My  dreams  were  bitter  once,  and  then 

I  found  them  bliss : 
O  lips  of  Love,  give  me  again 

Your  rose  to  kiss  ! 

Springtide  of  love !  The  secret  sweet 

Is  ours  alone  : 
O  heart  of  Love,  at  last  you  beat 

Against  my  own  ! 


TO   HER 

MY  songs  are  all  for  her 

Whose  love  I  fain  would  win : 

Each  to  her  heart,  a  wanderer, 
Goes  singing  :  Let  me  in  / 

Her  eyes  my  beacons  be, 
Her  lips  my  rosy  guides, 

And  in  her  heart  a  melody 
For  every  word  abides. 

Be  brave,  be  brave,  my  song, 
Nor  falter  in  the  quest : 

Love  in  her  heart  has  waited  long 
To  greet  the  singing  guest. 

And  be  it  yours  to  know 
The  latch  lift  on  the  door ; 

Once  in  her  heart  —  Go,  lyric,  go  ! 
Be  hers  for  evermore  ! 


MY  APRIL 

SWEETHEART,  comes  laughing  April  now 

To  right  the  Winter's  wrong ; 
And  back  to  the  forsaken  bough 

The  bluebird  comes  with  song  : 
And,  rivals  of  the  stars  above, 

Stars  in  the  grass  you  see  ; 
So,  like  your  namesake,  April,  Love  — 

My  April,  come  to  me  ! 

She  brings  the  blossom  to  the  vine, 

A  token  fresh  and  new  ; 
She  fills  the  crocus  cup  with  wine, 

A  pledge  that  she  is  true  ; 
She  sends  the  sunshine  after  rain, 

A  golden  augury : 
Sweetheart,  and  must  I  plead  in  vain  ? 

My  April,  come  to  me  ! 


Oh,  Winter  lies  upon  my  heart 

A  dreariness  and  woe  : 
It  needs  but  your  dear  smile  to  start 

The  buds  of  hope  to  blow ; 
It  needs  but  your  sweet  lips  to  bring 

The  message  that  shall  be 
Like  April's  own,  all  love  and  Spring : 

My  April,  come  to  me  ! 


A  MAY  MADRIGAL 

SWEETHEART,  the  buds  are  on  the  tree, 

The  birds  are  back  once  more, 
And  with  their  songs  they  call  to  me 

To  open  wide  my  door  : 
So  wide  shall  stand  the  door  to-day 

Because  my  heart  is  true 
To  bud  and  bird,  to  mirth  and  May, 

And,  most  of  all,  to  You  ! 

Sweetheart,  the  leaves  begin  to  show, 

The  grass  is  green  again, 
And  on  the  breeze  sweet  odors  blow 

From  wild  flowers  in  the  glen  : 
The  world  is  glad  with  voice  and  wing, 

And  all  the  skies  are  blue ; 
The  scent,  the  song,  the  soul  of  Spring, 

I  find  them  all  in  You  ! 


[    73    ] 


Sweetheart,  the  snows  have  gone,  and  now 

It  is  the  mating  time. 
Hark  to  the  lover  on  the  bough, 

What  melody  sublime ! 
What  ecstasy  of  passion,  pride, 

And  love  and  rapture,  too  ! 
So  door  and  heart  stand  open  wide 

To  welcome  May  and  You  ! 


[    74    ] 


NOCTURNE 

ABOVE  the  sea  in  splendor 

The  new  moon  hangs  alone, 
A  silver  crescent  slender 
Set  in  a  sapphire  zone ; 
Around  me  breathe  the  tender, 
Sweet  zephyrs  of  the  south : 
Night  will  not  let 
My  heart  forget 
Her  kisses  and  her  mouth. 

The  loose  sails  idly  swinging, 

The  ship  lights'  glow  and  gleam, 
The  bell-buoys'  muffled  ringing, 

Drive  all  my  thoughts  to  dream,  • 
To  dream  of  her  voice  singing 
The  songs  I  love  the  best : 
Night  will  not  let 
My  heart  forget 
Where  she  has  made  her  nest ! 

[    75    3 


O  Love,  where  art  thou  biding 

While  hangs  this  moon  on  high  ? 
Star  in  the  twilight  hiding, 

Come  forth  and  light  the  sky 
Above  the  ship  slow  gliding 
Over  the  southern  sea : 
Night  will  not  let 
My  heart  forget 
Love's  eyes  that  shine  for  me ! 


MEMORIES 

As  Love  and  I  went  walking 
Along  the  sea's  gray  shore, 

We  heard  the  green  waves  talking, 
And  love  was  all  their  lore. 

The  purple  shadows  shifted, 
And  through  the  twilight  long 

From  singing  stars  there  drifted 
Our  sweet  betrothal  song. 

But  once,  in  days  long  after, 
We  walked  there,  Love  and  I ; 

The  waves  had  lost  their  laughter, 
The  stars  were  hushed  on  high 

And  each  remembered  only 
A  little  voice  —  oh,  years, 

How  long  they  are,  and  lonely ! 
Oh,  heart,  how  full  of  tears ! 


[     77     ] 


A  SONG'S   ECHO 

MY  Love  is  like  a  Winter  rose 

That  sweetly  blooms  alone, 
That  has  of  rivals  none,  and  knows 

A  beauty  all  her  own. 

My  Love  is  like  a  tender  tune 

That  wakens  tender  words, 
And  fills  December  full  of  June, 

And  brings  again  the  birds. 

Her  smile,  my  sun  ;  her  voice,  my  song ; 

Her  face,  my  flower  of  bliss ; 
Oh,  who  could  find  the  Winter  long 

With  such  a  Love  as  this ! 


WITH   ROSES 

HERE  are  roses  red, 

For  their  fragrance  love  them : 
When  you  bend  your  head 

Tenderly  above  them, 
To  your  own  lips,  sweet, 

Lift  them  up  and  hold  them 
While  their  lips  repeat 

What  my  heart  has  told  them. 

Grant  them  of  your  grace, 

With  your  beauty  bless  them, 
Fold  them  to  your  face, 

Kiss  them,  and  caress  them. 
Brief  their  day,  and  so 

Only  gladness  give  them, 
Yours  the  joy  to  know 

Love  that  shall  outlive  them. 


[    79    ] 


TWO   SONGS 

i 
HER  greeting  is  a  dulcet  bell  — 

Love's  daybreak  and  delight ; 
Her  smile  is  noon,  and  her  farewell 

Leads  in  the  stars  at  night. 
She  is  the  sunrise  and  the  gleam 

Of  dew  upon  the  rose, 
The  vision  that  evokes  the  dream, 

The  song  in  slumber's  prose. 

ii 
Roses  are  the  rhymes  I  wreathe  — 

Take  them,  every  one ; 
Love  —  the  fragrance  that  you  breathe, 

And  your  smile  their  sun. 
When  the  petals  fall  apart, 

Then  in  melody, 
You  shall  read  a  rose's  heart, 

And  the  heart  of  me. 


SONNETS 


SAINT   ROSE 

DEAR  Rose,  what  volumes  it  would  need  to  hold 
The  songs  that  poets  have  been  fain  to  sing 
In  praise  of  you,  —  the  ruby  in  June's  ring, 

Jewel  of  fragrance  set  in  summer's  gold  ! 

What  tender  words  of  worship,  since  of  old 
In  Eden  Love  first  found  you  blossoming, 
Have  blest  your  beauty,  hoping  so  to  bring 

A  touch  of  warmth  unto  a  bosom  cold ! 

Poets  and  Lovers  there  shall  ever  be 

So  long  as  there  are  gardens  where  the  vine 

Builds  a  green  temple  of  felicity 

Within  whose  leaves  is  found  your  fragrant  shrine. 

O  sweet  Saint  Rose !   Dear  flower  of  melody,  — 
A  lover's  token,  take  this  song  of  mine. 


SURF   MUSIC 

ALL  day  I  hear  along  the  sandy  shore 

The  melancholy  music  of  the  Sea ; 

The  green-robed  choir  of  Ocean  sing  to  me, 
Chanting  the  legends  of  their  ancient  lore. 
I  hear  the  tales  of  mariners  of  yore, 

Of  ships  gone  down,  of  tempests  blowing  free  ; 

I  hear  the  mast,  remembering  the  tree, 
Grieve  for  the  grove  and  all  its  leaves  once  more. 

But  when  night  comes  and  in  the  deep  blue  sky 
Gather  the  stars  above  the  fields  of  foam, 

The  music  changes,  and  in  fancy  I 
Again  the  old  familiar  forests  roam 

And  hear  the  mast's  companions  as  they  cry : 
Blow,  Wind,  and  bring  our  captive  brother  home ! 


TO  A   MOCKING  BIRD 

THOU  feathered  minstrel  perched  in  yonder  tree, 
Thou  bird-magician  in  a  blue-gray  coat, 
Trickster  of  tune,  thou  canst  repeat  by  rote 

Thy  rivals'  songs  and  win  their  loves  to  thee ! 

Song-sorcerer,  who  canst  with  melody 

Lure  us  to  listen  ;  thou  whose  slender  throat 
Is  full  of  magic,  bubbling  note  by  note ; 

Mimic  of  music,  sing  thou  on  to  me  ! 

Chatter  of  blackbird,  warble  of  the  wren, 
Joy  of  the  jay,  and  passion  of  the  thrush, 

And  every  trill  that  ever  bird  has  known,  — 
I  heard  him  jesting  for  a  while ;  and  then, 
Softly  upon  the  morning  in  a  gush  |  • 

Of  lyric  love  I  heard  him  call  his  own. 


MUSIC 

IN  vain  the  quest :  no  mortal  eyes  may  know 
The  secret  haunt  wherein  by  day  and  night 
She  shapes  her  dreams  of  audible  delight 

And  sends  them  forth  to  wander  to  and  fro : 

Spirits  of  Sound,  invisible  they  go 

To  fill  the  world  with  wonder  in  their  flight ; 
Celestial  voices,  from  whose  starry  height 

Strange  hints  of  song  steal  down  to  earth  below. 

Listen  and  hear  the  rhythmic  echoes  fall,  — 

The  winds  and  waves  and  leaves  and  bees  and  birds, 

The  blended  harmony  of  reeds  and  strings,  — 
Chorus  and  orchestra,  —  the  voice  and  all 
The  miracle  of  melody  and  words,  — 

Music  herself  it  is  who  dreams  and  sings  ! 


[    86    ] 


THE  SHOWER 

HOUR  after  hour  relentlessly  the  sun 

Shriveled  the  leaves  and  parched  the  meadow  grass 
The  sky  was  yellow  and  like  molten  brass 

The  heat  poured  down  until  the  day  was  done. 

Red  the  round  moon  arose,  and  one  by  one 
Blossomed  the  stars  and  in  the  river's  glass 
Beheld  their  beauty,  but  the  breeze,  alas ! 

Refused  to  break  the  web  the  spider  spun. 

But  with  the  dawn  a  little  cloud  drew  near, 
Leading  a  host  forth  on  the  azure  plain.    . 

A  distant  rumble,  then  a  forest  cheer, 

And  then  a  gust  that  whirled  the  weather-vane ; 

And  then,  at  last,  —  O  melody  most  dear  ! 
The  soft  alliteration  of  the  rain. 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY  IN  WALL  STREET 

WINGED  wanderer  from  clover  meadows  sweet, 
Where  all  day  long  beneath  a  smiling  sky 
You  drained  the  wild-flowers'  cups  of  honey  dry 

And  heard  the  drowsy  winds  their  love  repeat, 

What  idle  zephyr,  whispering  deceit, 

Captured  your  heart  and  tempted  you  to  fly 
Unto  this  noisy  town  and  vainly  pry 

Into  the  secrets  of  this  busy  street  ? 

To  me  your  unexpected  presence  brings 

A  thought  of  fragrant  pastures,  buds  and  flowers, 

And  sleepy  brooks,  and  cattle  in  the  fold ; 
And,  watching  as  you  soar  on  trembling  wings, 
I  think  for  those  who  toil  through  weary  hours 
You  are  a  type  of  their  uncertain  gold  ! 


THE   WINTER   POOL 

DEEP  in  the  woods,  amid  the  giant  trees 
It  lies  alone  within  an  open  space, 
Beloved  in  summer  by  the  sylvan  race 

Of  God's  best  poets  —  birds  and  golden  bees  ; 

Diana's  mirror,  full  of  memories 

Of  all  the  nameless  wonder  of  her  face 
And  of  the  myriad  jewel-stars  that  grace 

Orion's  glory  and  the  Pleiades. 

Behold  it  now,  all  ghostly  white  and  still, 
Shut  in  the  shadow  of  the  ice  and  snow, 

A  solitary,  sad,  forsaken  thing ; 
Bereft  of  beauty,  marred  and  dark  until 
Diana  comes  again  and  looks  to  know 

Her  luring  smile  —  the  loveliness  of  Spring  ! 


BETRAYAL 

THERE  came  a  day  in  winter  when  the  sun 

Reached  down  and  swept  the  world  all  clean  of  snow ; 
When  captive  streams  long  hushed  in  icy  woe 

Escaped  with  song  again  to  dance  and  run  : 

Between  the  purple  hills  the  vales  were  spun 
With  silver  mist,  and,  dreaming  in  the  glow, 
The  trees  and  vines  were  tremulous  as  though 

They  felt  the  buds  unfolding  one  by  one. 

Just  for  a  day  this  glamour  touched  the  dearth 
And  dreariness  of  life,  —  one  vision  brief 

Of  joy  that  lit  the  sorrow  of  the  earth,  — 

Then  passed,  and  with  it  hope  went  and  belief : 

So  Love  once  came  and  with  a  voice  of  mirth 
Betrayed  my  heart  and  left  it  dumb  with  grief. 


THE   SNOW'S   DREAMER 

ASLEEP  within  her  marble  room  she  lies, 

And  dreams  of  days  to  come  when  she  shall  go 
Across  the  meadows  in  the  morning  glow, 

Song  on  her  lips,  and  gladness  in  her  eyes : 

In  dreams  she  sees  again  the  warm,  blue  skies, 

And  breathes  the  fragrance  which  the  soft  gales  blow 
From  trees  whose  blossoms,  like  belated  snow, 

Have  filled  the  orchards  with  a  sweet  surprise. 

So  shall  she  dream,  and  slumber  on  until 

The  first  faint  whispers  of  the  south  wind  bring 

The  shy  anemones,  all  white  with  fear, 
To  look  upon  her  in  her  chamber  still ; 

Then,  waking,  hear  the  bluebird  blithely  sing 
To  welcome  in  the  Daybreak  of  the  Year ! 


THE   CATHEDRAL   BELLS 

(Old  Spanish  Cathedral,  St.  Augustine,  Florida) 

HIGH  in  the  old  cathedral  tower  they  hung,  — 
Four  ancient  bells,  the  bronze  arpeggio 
That  called  to  prayer  the  gray  monks  long  ago, 

And  marked  the  hour  while  mass  was  said  and  sung. 

Over  a  land  of  fragrant  flowers  they  flung 
Petals  of  music  that  were  wont  to  blow 
Out  of  the  rose  of  Time,  whereof  we  know 

Naught  save  how  sweet  it  is  and  ever  young. 

Listen !  across  the  midnight  comes  their  call,  — 
Twelve  in  succession  sound  the  bell-notes  clear : 

A  day  has  gone ;  another  day,  begun. 
Awake,  I  hear  them  saying  as  they  fall  : 
Vale,  Hispania  !  Day  of  shadows  drear ! 
Ave,  America  !  Day  of  joy  and  sun  ! 


9* 


QUATRAINS 


DAWN 

OUT  of  the  scabbard  of  the  night, 

By  God's  hand  drawn, 
Flashes  his  shining  sword  of  light, 

And  lo,  —  the  dawn  ! 


STORM 

IN  the  black  jungle  of  the  sky  now  wakes 
The  Lightning's  writhing  brood  of  fiery  snakes, 
And  lion  Thunder  from  his  lair  of  cloud 
Startles  the  dusky  world  with  challenge  loud. 


DUSK 

UP  from  the  underworld  the  shadows  crowd 
And  ply  with  noiseless  fingers  at  the  loom 

Whereon  they  weave  the  star-embroidered  cloud 
That  screens  the  door  of  Day's  new-builded  tomb. 


[     95     ] 


STARLIGHT 

OVER  the  rim,  a  fiery  ball, 
God's  hand  the  golden  sun  lets  fall ; 
Then  from  the  blue  deeps  of  the  skies 
The  myriad  white  bubbles  rise. 


A   SEA   FANCY 

THE  bugling  winds  their  solemn  dirges  blow 
Across  a  dreary  waste  of  foam-white  waves. 

Here  is  the  ocean  cemetery.    Lo, 
The  phantom  head-stones  of  the  myriad  graves  ! 


MASTERY 

STROLLING  along  the  granite  coast  I  caught 
From  lips  invisible  this  message  clear  :  — 

Without  my  strength  the  ocean's  rage  were  naught, 
And  I  am  but  the  whisper  in  thine  ear  ! 


DERELICT 

FAR  in  the  distance  looms  a  ship's  dark  hull, 
Aimlessly  tossing  on  an  angry  sea ; 

And,  circling  round,  one  solitary  gull,  — 
White  ponderer  of  this  black  mystery ! 


FOG 

IN  agony  of  death  throughout  the  night 
The  frenzied  monarch  tossed  upon  his  bed 

Whence  rose  at  dawn,  mysterious  and  white, 
A  ghost,  —  the  spectre  of  the  mighty  dead. 


THE   PENALTY 

IMPLACABLE  and  stern,  the  captive,  Hate, 
In  silence  sits,  too  anger-blind  to  see 

Love's  shining  figure  at  his  prison  gate, 
Longing  to  hear  him  bid  her  turn  the  key. 


[    97    ] 


LIFE 

LAUNCHED  in  the  darkness  on  an  unknown  sea, 
A  plaything  of  the  winds  and  waves,  I  drift, 

And  ponder  what  the  shores  of  Life  may  be  — 
What  harbor  welcome  when  the  shadows  lift. 


THE  GOAL 

CREEDS  for  the  credulous  ;  but  as  for  me, 
I  choose  to  keep  a  mind  alert  and  free. 
Not  Faith  but  Truth  I  set  me  for  a  goal : 
Toward  that  shining  mark  God  speed  thee,  Soul ! 


KNOWLEDGE 

FOR  all  Philosophy  may  teach, 
Only  so  far  can  Knowledge  reach  : 
All  that  we  know  from  breath  to  breath 
Is  Life  and  its  great  question  —  Death. 


t  98 


IN   A  GARDEN 

THROUGHOUT  the  long,  enchanted  summer  hours, 
In  treasuries  of  honey-wealth  untold, 

Here  in  their  bright  metropolis  of  flowers 
The  banker  bees  are  busy  with  their  gold. 


IVY 

UPON  the  walls  the  graceful  Ivy  climbs 

And  wraps  with  green  the  ancient  ruin  gray  : 

Romance  it  is,  and  these  her  leafy  rhymes 
Writ  on  the  granite  page  of  yesterday. 


GRASS 

HERE  is  the  cloth  whereon  the  dew  and  sun 
Fashion  their  bright  embroideries  of  bloom  ; 

For  dreams  a  pillow,  and,  when  dreams  are  done, 
A  fragrant  cover  for  the  dreamless  tomb. 


[    99    ] 


ROSE 

SCREENING  her  face  of  loveliness  behind 
The  garden's  leafy  curtain,  waits  the  Rose 

For  the  enamored  Nightingale  to  find 
A  lyric  hidden  in  his  book  of  prose. 


DAY  DREAM 

INTO  the  slumber  of  the  Day  there  came 
The  vision  of  a  spirit  winged  with  flame, 
And  down  the  fragrant  air  one  butterfly  — 
Her  golden  dream  —  sailed  indolently  by. 


FIRE   FANCIES 

DEEP  in  the  ashes  one  live  ember 
Lingers  two  similes  to  show : 

June  in  the  arms  of  old  December, 
A  red  rose  in  a  drift  of  snow. 


CITY   SPARROWS 

WITHIN  the  stone  Sahara  of  the  Town 
A  green  oasis  lies  the  open  Square  : 

Hark  to  the  noisy  caravans  of  brown, 
Intrepid  Sparrows,  —  Arabs  of  the  air ! 


WRIT   IN  WATER 

RIVER  or  sea,  the  voice  is  still  the  same, 
Each  curving  water-lip  the  word  repeats, 

Forever  rumoring  the  poet's  name, 
And  murmuring  melodiously  —  Keats. 


CONTRAST 

CAUGHT  in  a  crevice  of  the  marble  tomb, 
A  fragile  plant  uplifts  its  hand  of  bloom, 
And  poised  thereon  a  butterfly  takes  breath 
Fantastic  fellowship  of  Life  and  Death  ! 


THE   QUATRAIN 

HARK  at  the  lips  of  this  pink  whorl  of  shell 
And  you  shall  hear  the  ocean's  surge  and  roar 

So  in  the  quatrain's  measure,  written  well, 
A  thousand  lines  shall  all  be  sung  in  four. 


A   WISH 

THIS  be  my  wish  :  let  all  my  lines 
Across  the  pages  run  like  vines ; 
The  words,  their  shining  blossoms  be ; 
The  book,  a  field  of  melody. 


[     102     ] 


Cbe  fci 

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Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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